Putting buffaloes out to pasture on the lush green grass of Medders Manor
YOUNG Persephone really loves her pizza. That is why the subject of buffalo arose… We three – that’s me, our Eldrick and Persephone aforementioned - were taking advantage of good weather to do a few chores. There were plants to be watered, and nettles to be cut back, and hedges to be trimmed, that sort of thing.
Fortified by a solid breakfast, we set about our labours at high revs, thrashing away with a will. Even the Pooch joined in, taking it upon himself to encourage the work-force by scampering from one to the next in a show of enthusiasm which seemed to sum up the mood. But then energy levels fell as the temperature rose and the productivity slowed to the point of near standstill.
The dog had sloped off to take refuge snoozing in the shadow of an apple tree and thoughts were turning inexorably to elevenses. At only a few minutes after ten o’clock it seemed maybe a little premature to actually put on the kettle. On the other hand, we really had reached a natural break in activities, as Eldrick leaned on his rake and I turned off my tap. Persephone set down her shears and vowed to return some time later to pick up the clippings. Then she joined the menfolk in gazing out over the Rolling Acres as we mopped brows and compared blisters. We gradually turned thoughts to facing our next, and greatest, challenge – which was when Persephone had the bright idea.
‘Why don’t we get a buffalo?’ she asked, as though putting a ginormous continental herbivore on to an Irish small-holding were the most obvious thing in the world. Her suggestion was met with eyebrows raised in puzzlement.
‘It stands to reason.’
Yes, it could conceivably stand to reason in the mind of someone who loves pizza. Pizza cooked with genuine mozzarella cheese made of genuine buffalo milk. But were practicalities to consider.
‘Daughter dear, I’m not sure you have thought this fully through. Buffalo are hefty beasts and would cause compaction of the ground. Eldrick, whip out your phone and see if Google knows the weight of a buffalo.’
As Eldrick set about the research, I put another point of view to the proposer of the buffalo motion: ‘I seem to remember that the last time you inveigled the family into acquiring an animal, you swore an oath that you would play a full part in the care, feeding and grooming of said animal.’ The Pooch somehow realised that he was the animal being referred to and raised a piteous whimper, right on cue. ‘Yet when was the last time you fed our dog, or brushed our dog, or brought our dog for a walk?’
‘Oh, Da, buffaloes don’t need to be brought for walks.’ ‘Excuse me,’ interjected Eldrick. ‘Google reckons that an adult water buffalo weighs in at half a tonne, minimum. That’s at least 150 times what the Pooch weighs. Anyway, a bullock would make a great deal more sense.’
A bullock!
‘Maybe two bullocks.’ In fairness, he had his lines of logic ready to pitch into the discussion. Bullocks are easy come by. Bullocks are also easily disposed of. Bullocks produce lots of lovely manure, perfect for growing good vegetables.
‘I’m not so sure,’ was my response. ‘I’ve always had a hankering for a donkey. It must be a throwback to my ‘Winnie-the-Pooh’ days.’ So we debated the merits and drawbacks of putting donkey out on the Rolling Acres for a while. When Hermione marched out to join us, it really was time to put on the kettle and we had good news for her: we had reached a decision.
‘Sheep are the answer. It’s unanimous. All we need is some sturdy fencing. Eldrick is checking breeds. We are split between Suffolks and Texels. Definitely pedigree either way.’
Our supervisor looked around with tightly pursed lips at the scattered hedge clippings, at the parched flower bed and at the weeds waving cheerily in the breeze. ‘You three seriously think that you can dodge cutting the grass by telling me you have plans to put a flock of ewes on the lawn at some unspecified date in some uncertain future? GET THE MOWER OUT – NOW.’
We never did have our elevenses that day.